a rough james hetfield oneshot
𖤐 a disgruntled james hetfield needs to blow off some steam after a sound mishap on stage. you, the newly promoted—slightly cocky engineer who caused the fuck up, were caught dead in your tracks.
dubcon...?☻︎ power play, slapping, public humiliation, blowjob, degradation, roughhousing, asshole james and again, ragdoll reader
"What in the fuck was that?!"
An irate voice echos through the halls of the backstage area of the stadium. It was after the show. You knew exactly who that question was for, and the responsibility ripped through you like a machete. A few small mistakes you made as the prime audio engineer—
"Well, where the fuck is she?!"
—led to a livid James Hetfield. Sparing the details, these fuck-ups were definitely not gone unnoticed—by both the crowd, the band, and everyone, you just should've let someone else take over tonight.
The voice grew closer, and everyone around turned to you, knowing who was responsible. Your heartbeat picks up as you feel several pairs of eyes on you, and distant footsteps nearing. Though, you kept yourself together, shooting back a few glares to the company to protect your dignity, trying to remain tall as if you weren't being...for lack of better term, hunted down, at the moment by James Hetfield of Metallica. You loved this job and enjoyed your time working on the tour, and of course, enjoying your time with everyone on it. Though admittedly, you're pretty stubborn with almost everything that you do. Ever since you were promoted to the primary engineer, you've slightly let it get to your head, your coworkers growing more annoyed with you by the minute. You were all family, but like a cousin that needs to be addressed at the family reunion, you were becoming reckless. In your defense, the previous night of drinking and everything that came with it that you did with a handful of other crew and band, lasted until a little after daybreak, but it really caught up to you this time.
You know that you should have let someone else fill in for this show, just like you were wisely advised to, but nooooooo... you insisted everything was fine, and that you were independent, grown, and a professional, that you needed no help or anybody to tell you what you should and should not do; foolishly cocky of you, it must have been the liquor still talking. These words were not just repeated to anyone, but repeated to everyone in the room, including James and Lars. You didn't care for what the drummer had to say, but it was the frontman who clamped down on the suggestion that you should sit this one out. Though, you were fixed on getting the last word in, never liking being told what's good for you.
"I swear to God, when I get my hands on her! Half the show—fucked up!" You all hear, and reassurance from somebody on staff following, telling James that it wasn't that bad, and that they'll communicate with the engineer responsible—you. James shuts them down, saying that he'll handle it. Then finally, his angry voice pairs with his angry person, as he walks into view from around the corner.
Everyone in the room falls quiet, dead as a doorknob, cautiously examining him. James, fresh off the stage, skin and hair still slicked in sweat and pumped with adrenaline—ready to tackle this issue from the root. Your confidence almost diminishes upon seeing him, and hoping that you can slink away before he can catch you. You make the smallest shift in your legs and he instantly snaps his head at you.
His jaw clenches, and unclenches, and he starts for you. You instinctively step back but he snatches your arm, towering down at you. Seeing him this amped up, this close, and the anger rightfully directed at you makes you wanna puddle right then and there. "The fuck was that?" His grip was firm, and you're shocked at how he's got you, especially in front of so many people. Your pride gets the best of you as you huff at him, "We can talk this out like adults—" "No. We're past this. I told..." he trails off as he notices you now looking at someone else, seemingly pleading for them to intervene, he responds to this with a slap to your face, grabbing your face afterwards to force you to look at him. "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you." The little audience around gasped and exclaimed amongst themselves; so big of reaction, and yet nobody steps up. You all knew that James wasn't the friendliest at all when upset, and folks definitely expected the worst given how shitty the show's sound went tonight, primarily thanks to you. Your heart drops to your ass out of shock, slight fear and anger. Not to mention the humiliation of being scolded in front of everyone as if you were a little kid. This was a signal for you to also shut your smart mouth, but you refused to take that.
"What in that actual fuck is wrong with you?!" You spat, the sting on your cheek bringing flustering heat through your entire body. "Are you serious right now?!" You try to break from his hold, reaching your free arm to retaliate, but he quickly dodges you and throws his arms around you, holding you captive under him. You're damn near at loss for words. You don't notice that more people rushed into the room to witness what was going on. You were advised not to come in today, and yet you were the one to roll your eyes, brushing everyone's concerns off, and all with a pounding hangover! But damn, nobody wanted to step in to help you? "You don't fucking listen." He furthers, causing you to blush deeper, and you struggle against his large frame. "Get the fuck—!" You fight, you grumble something about how you both could easily discuss this in private. This outburst shocked you to your core, having rarely seen this side of him. Is he drunk? You call him a big baby and child among other things.
He lets you loose, but at an arm's distance for grabbing you back again. He looks around the room smugly, letting out a loud set of laughter, and gesturing to you. Your threats you made to him translated as weightless to him, which made you feel quite small in the moment.
But before you respond again, he suddenly starts to drag you to an open door a few steps down the hall, calling out on the way there, "I'm the child... fuckin' please." And reaches around to land a punishing smack to your ass, making you exclaim loudly out of shock, cursing him out. You hear distant giggles from bystanders, as they seem to be full of relief watching you finally confronted. That right there drove you mad.
You're dragged into the room, and he doesn't bother with shutting the door. It's sort of empty, a few crates, and almost vacant shelves, fluorescent facility lights beaming down on you. You're pushed into the right facing wall, back smacking it without warning, leaving you out of breath. Purposefully done so that everything could be seen by passerbyers and know that it's you. James reaches down, unfastening his belt, face set on you, "On your knees." He orders. You're just dumbfounded, and you stare wide eyed at the frontman, paralyzed. "God, do I need to use this on you?" his hands grasping along his belt. You perk up and shake your head quickly,
"Then get that sweet ass on the ground." He spat, starting for you. You quickly obeyed, sinking to your knees. James grabs you roughly by your hair, hand sliding down your face, slapping you once again on the same cheek, and grabbing your chin, causing you to whimper. "Open." James growls, but before you could protest, he shuts it down by smacking you roughly again, "Open." Tears swell in your eyes and you, now irritated, open your mouth, tongue resting slightly over your lip, and you look up at him obediently.
He peels his pants down, just enough for him to pop right out, stiffened and already ready to go. Hm, wonder when that happened? With little warning, he slides himself in your mouth, taking you by surprise and gagging you immediately. He pulls out, cackling down at you. "Cat got your tongue now, huh?" James moans as he taps himself on your tongue while you attempt to regather yourself, your heart still beating out your chest, you start to move your lips the slightest bit to protest, one last time, but he quickly shoves himself back in, letting out a gutted moan, furrowing his brows down at you.
"Dumb fucking bitch. Yeah, take my cock down your throat." James' large hands cradle your head, his left holding your hair like a leash, and his right on the side of your face, stretched to the back of your neck. He thrusts himself in deep, and slow, triggering your gag reflex, causing tears to roll down your face. Your hands fly up to his hips to try to create some type of barrier, but he overpowers you greatly. You whine around his cock, but it does nothing. Nothing but winding Hetfield up.
"Shut you up reeeal good," he starts lowly, "not much to say now." He takes himself out again, gracing you with oxygen. A trail of slobber connected the both of you, you try to catch your breath and brace yourself again, because you know that he's not going to let up. He moves his hand off your face, and moves it to cup your neck. "You're gonna learn to fuckin' listen today." The singer grimaces, you look up at him with pleading eyes, wanting so badly to beg for mercy. Mainly because your ego was damaged. A feeling of shame growing—shame from this confrontation being witnessed by your peers and many others, shame that you let yourself almost derail the show, and shame that you were oddly enjoying the way James decided to deal with you. Wrong? Sure, you were definitely in the wrong. Were you gonna admit it, had James not roughed you up in front of the goddamn city backstage? Probably, a little, yeah, sure.
"Don't give me that shit. This was lonnng overdue." He chortles, then forcibly opens your jaw again. James suddenly spits directly in your mouth, dribbles getting on the side of your face,
"Picture fuckin' perfect, darlin'." He moans deeply as he shoves himself back in, this time, rocking his hips with a power behind it. Absolutely throatfucking you. You hum around him, allowing him to turn your throat raw; he grunts as if it were a song, carelessly waving the fact that you're starting to choke, and tears are rolling down your face due to the lack of oxygen. He switches his hair holding hand, giving his left arm a break, resting it on your shoulder.
By this point, you had began to see tiny black floaters in your vision, your eyes starting to flutter. James noticeably close, with the way he's biting his lip, huffing, cock twitching in your full mouth. You thought you were going to pass out, until you notice that someone has walked into the room, calling for James. He had a headset on, and was watching the scene unfold briefly before snapping back into the moment. James slows, and you can't tell if he's aggravated or not by the interruption, but he pulls out and turns his head; you cough and try to catch your breath. The guy clears his throat, stealing glances at you while he begins to speak,
"Um, sir, you uhh." He pauses, rubbing his chin awkwardly. The singer gives a sarcastic grin, "Spit it out." He doesn't even acknowledge the situation, acting so nonchalantly that it's just...scary. The man continues, almost flinching at James—fuck is he the one nervous for?—, "You have that interview? The rest of the guys are waiting for you..." He trails off, half-smiling at the frontman. James keeps smiling, his hand loosening on your hair and shrugs, "Be there in a minute man, tell 'em not to start without me." The man nods, stealing one last glance at you before rushing out the room, reaching to close the door, but James stops him.
"Leave it." He orders, turning his head back to you. The man lets go, and leaves.
James chuckled dryly. "Think they're enjoying our little show?" He grabs himself, jerking roughly. You grumble in response, and spit out a "Fuck you, James." His eyes grow dark, smirking down at you, "Mmm, say that again for me..." A suggestion of rhetoric, because he pumps himself back into your mouth immediately, finishing what he was starting to do, "And leave those fucking hands behind your back."
You oblige, and he follows up with a "good girl."
Moments later, James had worked himself back to the finish line, choice words flying out, which honestly furthered your confusing enjoyment. He looked good, the whole exchange that is, his aggression only adding to it all. To speed him up, you assist him by moaning, whimpering around him. "Fuck, bitch," He clams his eyes shut, roughly thrusting into you a few more times before he pulls out of you, jerking himself to his end, telling you to keep your tongue out. He positions your head for you, relieving himself all over you. Your face, your tongue, even your favorite black long-sleeved shirt. You catch your breath for the final time, throat raw and eyes puffy, you fall back on your thighs, and hang your head, trying to keep your composure. James regathered himself, grabbing his belt once again, he seizes the opportunity to get another quip in over you. He folds it in half, pointing it at you, "I'm far from done with you." Before letting out another laugh. You say nothing, your face speaks for you, a blush pulls at your already slightly reddened face and you quickly look away. He approvingly hums, fastening his belt back to him. He walks towards the exit, turning back to you.
You squint your eyes at him, starting up something else to say, but couldn't find the words, considering they were throat fucked right out of you. Seems you've learned your lesson. At least you knew he wouldn't have you fired off the tour.
You stay where you are, recollecting yourself, trying to chalk down what just happened, and think about what's to happen next, shivering with both fear and heated curiosity. Then finally, you rise to your feet.
Somebody walks past the door, slowing down to break their neck into the room, eyes finding you, but then quickly continuing down the hallway. It hits you. That was the supposed to be the person to cover you for this night! At this point, all you can do is groan and look at the ceiling.
You were advised, you were warned and you were told.
Guess you got what you deserved!
